Posts
Monday, April 14
the downside of knowledge
Today, I accompanied Connor on his class field trip to the Orlando Science Center. We had a sweet time together -- some good one-on-one moments that are hard to come by in our current pattern of days and piles of laundry.
Before we were set free to explore the Center on our own (two dozen five- and six-year-olds running rampant with live alligators and chemistry experiments always seems like SUCH A GOOD IDEA), we participated in a staff-led animal discovery lab. I witnessed something there that made me sad and a little anxious. And no, it wasn't just the book that our Staff Educator read to start our lab, which covered Fun and Appropriate Kindergarten Topics like evolution and sex education in a quaint little story about chicken eggs and animal mommies around the world having babies in all kinds of ways. You could feel our collective maternal soul squirming all around the room, as everyone silently prayed IF YOU ARE GOD, YOU WILL PLEASE LET MY CHILD FORGET ABOUT THIS BOOK AND NOT ASK ME ABOUT IT RIGHT BEFORE BED TONIGHT. AMEN.
The anxious and sad feelings came as I watched a little girl in our group interact in the circle and in the project tables. I've noticed in previous classroom interactions that this child is educated beyond her years, an adult-like anomaly in this Pre-K world of Play-Doh and paint centers. She speaks, reads and acts more like fifth grader than five-year-old. In the past, I've been impressed by her knowledge. Today, she made me think again.
The Educator asked everyone in the circle to name their favorite animal. She was the only one who couldn't. We played a game where we sorted animals into habitats, with an ocean picture representing the sea and a forest representing land. She stalled out for a bit because the panda really wouldn't go "in this kind of forest," it would go "in China where the bamboo is." Later, she couldn't sort the crabs into the fish category because there really should have been a place for crustaceans.
Her knowledge paralyzed her. In her quest for the right answer -- the perfect solution -- she was left out of the joy of the game, the fun of the group, the thrill of shouting out wildly, as did several of the girls, "MY FAVORITE ANIMAL IS THE UNICORN!"
But honestly, I do the same thing all the time. Whether it's choosing dish detergent or deciding how to educate my kids, too much knowledge makes me miserable, contemplating the potential of every outcome while the teacher goes on to the next kid in the circle. Sometimes I need to realize that today is just a day, and this field trip I'm on right now won't last long enough for me to figure out every little thing in every little way.
Just sometimes, I need to take a deep breath and plunge into the experiment, without letting what I know become why I cannot act.
Before we were set free to explore the Center on our own (two dozen five- and six-year-olds running rampant with live alligators and chemistry experiments always seems like SUCH A GOOD IDEA), we participated in a staff-led animal discovery lab. I witnessed something there that made me sad and a little anxious. And no, it wasn't just the book that our Staff Educator read to start our lab, which covered Fun and Appropriate Kindergarten Topics like evolution and sex education in a quaint little story about chicken eggs and animal mommies around the world having babies in all kinds of ways. You could feel our collective maternal soul squirming all around the room, as everyone silently prayed IF YOU ARE GOD, YOU WILL PLEASE LET MY CHILD FORGET ABOUT THIS BOOK AND NOT ASK ME ABOUT IT RIGHT BEFORE BED TONIGHT. AMEN.
The anxious and sad feelings came as I watched a little girl in our group interact in the circle and in the project tables. I've noticed in previous classroom interactions that this child is educated beyond her years, an adult-like anomaly in this Pre-K world of Play-Doh and paint centers. She speaks, reads and acts more like fifth grader than five-year-old. In the past, I've been impressed by her knowledge. Today, she made me think again.
The Educator asked everyone in the circle to name their favorite animal. She was the only one who couldn't. We played a game where we sorted animals into habitats, with an ocean picture representing the sea and a forest representing land. She stalled out for a bit because the panda really wouldn't go "in this kind of forest," it would go "in China where the bamboo is." Later, she couldn't sort the crabs into the fish category because there really should have been a place for crustaceans.
Her knowledge paralyzed her. In her quest for the right answer -- the perfect solution -- she was left out of the joy of the game, the fun of the group, the thrill of shouting out wildly, as did several of the girls, "MY FAVORITE ANIMAL IS THE UNICORN!"
But honestly, I do the same thing all the time. Whether it's choosing dish detergent or deciding how to educate my kids, too much knowledge makes me miserable, contemplating the potential of every outcome while the teacher goes on to the next kid in the circle. Sometimes I need to realize that today is just a day, and this field trip I'm on right now won't last long enough for me to figure out every little thing in every little way.
Just sometimes, I need to take a deep breath and plunge into the experiment, without letting what I know become why I cannot act.
I guess sometimes a crab is just a fish! :)